A hot droplet streaks down my cheek. Followed by another.
Here comes another bout of crying. I should just head to bed and try to get some rest before my alarm goes off at three.
I’m alone instead of sitting outside on a gorgeous night eating damn good food with even better company.
I shudder out a hard breath. That’s not for me.
There’s a knock at the door.
Fucking Damon. I told him to leave me alone. He’s worse than a rotten, stinky egg.
“Go away!”
Another hesitant tap.
Does he think I’m going to tolerate constant interference? I might not have a choice, but he doesn’t know that. I rise to my feet and stomp to the door. Whipping it open, I pour all my hostility into my greeting. “I told you I would get you the goddamn money?—”
My jaw hits the floor. Cruz’s brows are to his hairline, and his hands are full of food containers. My stomach grumbles again, ready to invite him inside while I grab two forks and dig in. I’d eat that steak like a renaissance fair drumstick.
“What are you doing here?” It comes out as more of a shriek. I look over his shoulder and around him as much as I can. No Damon lurking in the corners of the other buildings.
Cruz glances behind him. “Expecting someone?”
Dreading him, more like. “No.”
He waits a moment, but when I don’t elaborate, he smiles, but his concerned stare brushes over my ravaged face. I mustlook like hell. “We can at least be friends, right? And friends gotta eat? I brought dinner here.”
I fight the urge to grab the food like a feral raccoon and run. The smell of the perfectly charred meat reaches me, and I want to sit with that bowl of pasta salad like it’s pudding and keep scooping until it’s gone.
He packed all of it like he plans to stay. I’m too wrung out to figure out a reason why this is a bad idea.
“Have a seat.” I push the door open farther and go to the counter to grab plates and silverware.
He spreads everything out and a small frown forms on his lips. I set my items down and my heart lurches in my throat. The envelope with the words “Inmate Dwayne Miller” and “correctional facility” on it sits on top of my mail pile. I gather it with the rest of my bills and hide it in a drawer at my island. That letter can get lost among my favorite cookbooks.
“You didn’t have to do this.” I plop into a seat but dig into his offerings in case he comes to his senses and realizes I’m not worth the effort. I bite back a groan when the burst of perfectly seasoned steak hits my taste buds. I can cook a five-course meal, but it’s been forever since I’ve made a robust dinner for myself. I nibble and taste so much throughout the day, and work even more, that it’s not often worth the effort.
He loads his plate before he pauses. “I know you’re a private person, but you don’t have to go through everything alone.”
“I talk to Clem.”
“When she’s not working all her jobs. Whatever reason you’re staying away from me is also putting distance between you two.”
I sigh. “I wish I could explain it, but I made a lot of mistakes, and I wish I could leave them in the past.”
“Do your parents know what’s going on, at least?”
I shake my head and cut off a hunk of perfectly done rib eye. Stuffing it in my mouth, I spin through ways to tell him something he won’t understand. We eat through all the amazing food. He lets me ponder as long as I need to before I brave speaking again.
“I’m not proud of what I did,” I finally say. “I’ve tried to make amends, but sometimes it just doesn’t feel like it ever goes away. My parents were doting—they still are, but when I was younger, it was stifling. One time, I got into an accident with Mom in the car. She beat herself up about it because we’d been bickering. I broke my arm and cut my forehead, but I healed just fine. But she still gets bouts of vertigo and migraines—and also continues to feel awful about it. So when I left home, I got the freedom I craved. I got more than I asked for, and I spent years evading their calls and avoiding them. They blamed themselves instead of me. Uncle Karl said Dad would start to cry.” I won the World’s Worst Daughter award. “I can’t have them find out how bad things got for me.”
I take a steadying breath and gather our dirty plates. He jumps up to do the same with the plastic containers. Pressure pounds at my temples, urging me to tell him everything. I haven’t talked to my parents. I haven’t opened up to Clem. I work so much that my friendships are as shallow as a kiddie pool.
A dull thud starts at my temples, and worse, the tears are threatening to return. I dump the dishes by the sink. “I’m also afraid no one will forgive me. I did things I’m not proud of and stood by while worse was happening.”
I squeeze my eyes closed. God, that was embarrassing. But I can take a full breath again and my sudden headache fades.
Cruz gently turns me around, his fingertips warm, and tilts my chin up. Tingles and heat spread over my skin from histouch. I open my eyes and I’m looking directly into his warm gaze.
